White Roses
by Lena18
Summary: HD Slash. The war is over. Both boys are trying to put the past behind them and focus on their developing relationship. But sometimes the past must be dealt with. Where do they go from here? War Flashbacks. Halfblood Prince Spoilers.
1. A Cold Morning

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I hold no legal claim over Harry Potter or any associated characters. This piece of fan fiction is merely for my own

amusement, and possibly others. No profit is being made, and no copyright fringe is intended.

Rating: M for later chapters.

Author's Note: This story popped into my head early this morning, and so I had to start it right away. It's about the aftermath of the war, and how the characters got where they are. It's a bit different then my other writing, more with the serious, less with the funny (be warned!) This chapter is very short, but I expect the others to be longer.

**Chapter 1 – One Cold Morning**

_May 17, 2008_

It was a cold morning, and Harry was wishing that he had brought jacket. He shivered, and dared another look into the crowd of faces gathered in front of him. The faces of friends, colleagues, and, as most of them were, complete strangers. He just wished that they weren't all staring back at him. He turned to McGonagall, who sat beside him sternly. She caught his gaze and rewarded him with a quick smile before returning to her own thoughts. Harry went back to staring at his hands, tracing the creases of his palm nervously as he waited with the rest of the individuals on stage for the crowd to settle. It had been over a week since there had been any blood on those hands, but Harry still felt dirty. He'd taken countless baths and showers, and had performed Scourgify more times than he could count. Ron had found him late one night, scrubbing furiously at raw skin with rubbing alcohol. Despite his best efforts, he still had the sneaking suspicion that somehow that blood continued to lurk on his skin. Or worse, the blood had seeped into his very pores, poisoning him slowly and silently from the inside out. This time the cold had very little to do with the shivers that wracked his body.

On the other side of Harry sat the newly appointed Minister of Magic, a man by the name of Bromius Fawcett. Harry had only had the chance to speak to him briefly before today, but he seemed like a nice enough fellow. Traditionally, the Minister tended to be a little bit older, but when Fawcett had accepted the job it was at a time when the position wasn't exactly a desired one. The unfortunate ends of the past three Ministers had been enough to scare away most of the possible contenders.

Rufus Scrimgeour had been first. As the new Minister did his very best to keep up appearances, he neglected to tend to some rather pressing issues. Unfortunately, by the time the direness of the Dementor situation was realized it was too late. But Scrimgeour had refused to admit defeat and simply allow the creatures to return to their Master. A noble attitude, but in the end a foolish one. He cost the Ministry heaps of gold and countless resources, not to mention priceless time. In the end, it cost Rufus Scrimgeour his soul. The former Minister of Magic now resided in St. Mungo's, where his empty eyes follow the movements of the nurses that inhabit its corridors. Shortly after the Dementor's Kiss was performed on Scrimgeour, the Dementors broke free of Azkaban, releasing Voldemort's most faithful followers.

The chaos that followed Scrimgeour's removal from office prevented a proper election. Therefore, the ministry assigned the position to the Junior Assistant to the Minister, none other than Percy Weasley, who was to preside temporarily until such a time when an election could be held. Percy's role as Minister of Magic was only to assure the public of ministry stability, and was expected to be brief. Indeed, it was brief – Percy was murdered by Death Eaters seventeen hours after he was sworn in.

After Percy's murder, Kingsley Shacklebolt was offered the position of Minister. He had been doing some outstanding field work and had managed to impress the right people with his forward-thinking and "meet them head on" approach. He was never officially elected, but he commanded the public's support and respect with ease.

Professor McGonagall had stepped in as Headmistress of Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death, only to have the school shut down midway through Harry's last year of schooling. In such dangerous times, families preferred to keep each other close. This was how Harry had come to live with the Weasleys, who had taken him in as one of their own.

Shacklebolt led the wizarding world to war, and he led them to victory. On the eve of Voldemort's defeat Harry fought beside him with pride. At the pivotal moment in the battle, Shacklebolt sacrificed himself for Harry, throwing himself in front of the boy and absorbing the full force of the Dark Lord's attack. In that second, Voldemort let down his guard, allowing Harry to assume the final blow, thereby destroying the last Horcrux that lay deep within the essence of the man that was once Tom Riddle.

"All right, is everyone ready?" Fawcett asked, turning to the men and women assembled on the stage for affirmation. Harry shook himself mentally, and began to fidget again anxiously. He didn't want to be here. Fawcett stood up smoothly, and approached the podium with confidence. Performing Sonorus, in order to be heard by the massive crowd assembled before them, the new Minister of Magic began to speak.

"We are here today to celebrate the end of a war that has plagued our hearts and our minds for the past four years. The defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a great triumph for all of humankind, both wizards and muggles alike. Now is a time to reform and rebuild, and I hope that we will all be able to unite in our beliefs and actions to do so." The Minister paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "As we mourn for those who are no longer with us, we must remember what they gave their lives for. Our generation has made sacrifices so that future generations will not have to. In making these sacrifices, they have given us the greatest gift possible, and that is a world of peace. A world in which parents can raise their children without fear. A world in which…"

Harry was trying to listen, but he was too distracted by his own thoughts. This wasn't unusual; as of late Harry's attention hadn't been an easy thing to grasp. He was afraid to let it settle in one place, lest he find himself dwelling on one of the many memories he was trying to erase from his head. Harry summoned up enough courage to once again look out into the sea of people that sat, row on row, still listening intently to Fawcett as he continued with his speech. Harry pulled out his own speech, and began to look over it again for the 52nd time in the past hour. It had been neatly copied out by Hermione the night before onto a fresh, crisp piece of parchment that he had promptly crumpled up and shoved into his pocket. She had spent hours helping him write it, but now that he was looking at the words in front of him they seemed wrong somehow. He couldn't imagine himself standing up there and delivering this speech. It was too…clean. Too perfect. The prettiness of the words in front of him didn't do justice to the ugliness of the war behind him.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up to find that the Minister was watching him expectantly. Burning a fierce red, he again shoved the piece of parchment into his pocket, and stood up cautiously beside the other man.

"It is therefore my honour and privilege to present to you the Order of Merlin, First Class." Barius announced, handing Harry the golden badge, and shaking his hand warmly. The applause was deafening, and the camera flashes were blinding. As soon as Harry stepped in front of the podium however, the stadium became dead silent. Harry cleared his throat.

"I just wanted to say-" Harry began.

"Mr. Potter?" Fawcett interrupted. "I'm sorry, but your voice?"

Harry's face heated up once more as he performed the Sonorus charm so that the audience could hear him. He began again.

"I-" Harry stopped. He looked down at the crumpled parchment in front of him, then back out at the faces in front of him. He saw Hermione and the Weasleys in the front row, all smiling up at him encouragingly. Again, Harry tried to speak. But his throat had closed up and his mind had gone numb. He stood there, looking out at the thousands of people that had come here today. He wondered how many of them had lost a friend, a cousin, a sister, a parent, or a brother. How many were still grieving, like he was. Percy, Padma, Neville…the list went on and on. Deaths he had discovered at breakfast when the Daily Prophet owl swooped in, clutching the rolled up newspaper in its beak. Deaths that he had choked on, along with eggs and bacon that he had stopped tasting. Deaths that he felt responsible for. Harry began to shake. The faces were all blurring together, and Harry felt as though the stadium were spinning, round and round and-

He stopped suddenly as his eyes locked onto another's. Harry took a deep breath, and focused on drawing strength from those eyes. The world slowly came back into focus. Reassured, Harry broke the glance as he put away the piece of parchment again. He stood a little straighter. And when he spoke, it was with both pride and defeat, and his quiet voice echoed throughout the stadium.

"It's over."

The audience sat expectantly, waiting. Seconds passed, and no one spoke. When it appeared as though that was all that was forthcoming, Molly Weasley stood up proudly, and began to clap. Eventually, one after another, the rest of them followed, until the stadium was filled with a thundering applause. Harry looked out again at the people in front of him, but this time his eyes fell immediately on one person, and one person alone.

Draco Malfoy sat among the crowd, not in the front with the Weasleys, but inconspicuously between a large woman wearing polka dots and a gentleman with a rather large boil on his face. Malfoy met Harry's gaze evenly, and they simply stared back at one another. The former Slytherin nodded approvingly, and Harry smiled, returning the sentiment.

The war was over.

**A/N: I was originally intending to leave this as a one-shot, but a spark of inspiration has come to me to continue it. However, the spark might need a bit of encouragement, so I'd love to hear from you! Please let me know what you think, reviews make my day!**


	2. Home, Sweet Home

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I hold no legal claim over Harry Potter or any associated characters. This piece of fan fiction is merely for my own amusement, and possibly others. No profit is being made, and no copyright fringe is intended.

Rating: M

Author's Note: I'll warn you right now, the story I'm telling isn't going to follow a strict timeline. I'm sort of jumping around here. So I've made sure to specify the time in italics before every new scene. Hopefully, there will be no confusion.

**Chapter 2: Home, Sweet Home**

_Flashback.__July 23, 2006__. Two years into the war. _

The trees were crying gently, and a drop of morning dew landed softly on Draco's cheek, mixing with his own tears. He had been reluctant to part with those tears, but they had spilled nonetheless. He was glad that no one would see them, at least. Harry stood a few steps behind him in silence. They didn't talk, but Draco could feel his presence and was grateful that he was there. They been standing in front of this grave for the past 40 minutes, and Harry hadn't complained once. Draco took one last shuddering breath, and knelt. Slowly, he reached a hand out to feel the cold granite of the stone that marked his mother's final resting place.

"Hi Mum," Draco said quietly. Normally, he would have felt a little bit silly squatting in a graveyard at six o'clock in the morning, talking to a woman who had been dead for over a month now. Draco hadn't found out until yesterday. He'd been in Peru, attempting to convince a couple of well-respected dignitaries there to provide support for the war effort in Britain. He'd succeeded, and had returned home feeling both satisfied and quite pleased with himself. The letter was waiting for him on his window sill, having been dropped off by a ministry owl weeks ago.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Harry's hand was on his shoulder then, and Draco exhaled loudly. He endeavored to compose himself, and found that he didn't have anything else to say. Nothing he said could change this. So he placed the dozen white roses on her grave with care, and stood up shakily.

"I'll be fine." Draco said quickly, in an attempt to convince himself more than Harry. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Of course." Harry replied. They stood together for a few minutes, listening to the sounds that could only be heard first thing in the morning, before the reality of a world at war had truly crept into the day. The rustling of the bushes, or the quiet chirping of a bird somewhere near. Little noises that had been taken for granted in the past.

"What was she like?" Harry asked quietly.

"Who, my mother?" Draco sighed. "She was…cold. Not cruelly so, just indifferent somehow. But she wasn't there very often."

"Did she travel?"

"Oh. No, I guess that's not what I meant. She was there physically. But her spirit was always somewhere else." Draco wiped at his face, embarrassed suddenly to realize that his tears had begun to dry there. He finally met Harry's eyes, which had been observing him carefully. "She was…hollow."

"I'm sorry." Harry said softly. Draco acknowledged this with a wry smile.

"When I was little I used to imagine that she was a porcelain doll. She was always so beautiful and perfect and fragile. And Lucius treated her like a doll. He would admire her, play with her, and then just put her on a shelf when he was done with her." Draco pronounced these words bitterly. "But he didn't put her away carefully enough. Each time she would find herself closer to the edge of that shelf. I guess I always knew that one day she'd fall off."

The concern was evident on Harry's face. Draco was sounding far away now, almost like he was falling himself.

"Fall and smash. Shattered porcelain, all over the floor." Draco shook his head abruptly, startling Harry. "I don't want to think about it anymore." He insisted.

"Draco-"

"I don't want to think about it anymore!" Draco repeated angrily. He turned around without warning, and headed quickly down the path they had come from. Harry followed him, jogging a little at first to catch up. When he was beside the other boy again, Harry grasped his hand. Draco squeezed it tightly until his knuckles were white with strain. But Harry didn't let go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Present day. June 12, 2008. The war was declared won approximately one month ago._

Draco emptied yet another one of his bags out onto the bed in front of him, and groaned at the task that lay ahead. He had absolutely no idea what to do with all of this stuff. His clothing felt out of place in this room. His set of two hundred galleon robes completely overshadowed the simple plaid bedding that they'd been dumped on. If Draco was going to be staying here indefinitely, he would need a new wardrobe. Draco scoffed. What an absurd idea. He'd just make Harry redecorate instead.

Draco had been surprised when Harry asked him to move in. It wasn't that it was too soon. They had been together throughout the majority of the war, which meant almost four years. Of course, their time spent together during the duration of the war had been limited and sporadic at best, but that was to be expected. It wasn't that moving in was too much of a commitment either. In such desperate, dangerous times people tended to hold on to the ones around them. As a result of this, and their semi-frequent assignments together, Draco and Harry had grown close surprisingly fast. As far as Draco concerned, there wasn't and hadn't been anyone else for a long time. In truth, he was quite pleased that Harry had asked. Draco had to agree that it made a great deal of sense in many ways. After all, he was practically spending every night with Harry as it was. He couldn't sleep without him anymore, something he would never admit to anyone but himself.

No, the real reason Draco had been surprised didn't have anything to do with time or commitment. It had to do with the tiny, insignificant detail that continued to prickle as the symbolical thorn in Draco's side. The fact that, despite almost four years with the savior of the wizarding world, their relationship was still very much a secret. Hidden from even Harry's closest friends. Of course, Draco's alliance with the Order of the Phoenix had effectively removed any standing childhood hostility between himself and the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They had come to regard each other as friendly acquaintances (well, sort of), and yet the two were completely oblivious to the true nature of Draco and Harry's relationship. Draco's stance on this issue changed on a regular basis, sometimes even hourly. He didn't necessarily want to pull this "thorn" out, because it was very likely that doing so would open a can of worms that was best left undisturbed. Media attention, spending time with the friends, etc. No, he liked having Harry all to himself. But he couldn't help but wonder sometimes what it was that prevented Harry from telling them.

The more he thought about this, the more he began to feel nervous about what they were doing. When Harry had brought up the idea of moving in, he'd presented it as the next logical thing for them to do. Now Draco wasn't sure. What was Harry waiting for? He'd have to tell his friends at some point. Unless he just didn't think that Draco was important enough to mention at all.

Draco was fuming at this point. The fact that he could not find any place for his clothes in Harry's closet wasn't helping matters any. Harry's closet was an absolute disaster area. Draco flung another hideous set of Harry's robes across the room in an attempt to clear some space. He must remember to go shopping with that boy this weekend. That is, if their relationship lasted the week.

He heard the door to the flat open, and looked at the clock on the wall. It was 8:12 pm – Harry was late. Again. Draco stubbornly began to place his robes on the hangers he'd managed to disentangle from the mess.

"Hi," Harry said, appearing at the door of the bedroom. Draco continued with his work, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Hey," Harry repeated again, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. Draco jumped, unaware that Harry had crossed the room to him.

"Don't do that!" Draco told him off. Harry just laughed.

"Sorry, I'm just happy to be back. Today was awful."

"Huh," Draco grunted, unwilling to show any interest. Harry had been working furiously these past few weeks, wrapping things up with the Ministry and going over case files with the other Aurors for those Death Eaters that were to be tried and, hopefully, convicted. He had been asked to appear at numerous post-war gatherings of all kinds, although he had only attended two. One had been a charity ball held in hopes of raising money for those left homeless after the destruction that had been wrought on Britain. The other was the ceremony in which he had been presented with the Order of Merlin, First Class. He had refused to attend that one at first, but eventually Professor McGonagall had convinced him that Dumbledore would have wanted him to be there for the wizarding world. For the sake of the countless faces, all looking to their hero.

Draco was slightly resentful. He was currently under house arrest, so to speak. Through the duration of the war he had posed for Voldemort as a spy among the Ministry. In reality however, it had been the other way around. He had managed it quite successfully for some time. That is, however, until that night in August of the year 2007. Draco immediately stopped. He didn't want to think of that. The short version involved an awful lot of torture, a miraculous escape, and a sudden change of plans. He began work as an official Auror, and was admitted into the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix. Growing up in the house of Lucius Malfoy had taught him a trick or two, and his knowledge of dark arts had proved quite useful. However, even though the war was now over, there were still quite a few Death Eaters walking free. Aurors were working around the clock in an attempt to discover their precise locations, but so far the search had been fruitless. Not surprisingly, his fellow Death Eaters had been less than thrilled with his betrayal. It was suspected that they would exact revenge if given even the smallest chance. Draco was a target, and would continue to be until every last Death Eater was back in Azkaban.

"…and then they made us go over that file on Dolohov _again_. You'd think that if there was something there we'd have caught it the sixteenth time they told us to look at it again. But apparently a seventeenth time was required." Harry grimaced. "Oh well, thoroughness is important I suppose."

Draco just grunted again. He hadn't really been listening, although normally he would have been lapping it all up eagerly. Harry rarely told him this kind of information, mainly because most of it was highly classified. But today he wasn't in the mood.

Harry squeezed his waist slightly. "How's the unpacking coming?"

"Fine," Draco lied smoothly. He stiffened as Harry began to kiss the line from Draco's jawline to his collarbone. Draco shrugged out of the embrace.

"Don't do that." He mumbled.

"Do what?" Harry asked, looking hurt.

"Don't act like that."

"Like what?" Harry asked again.

"I don't know! Just stop it!" Draco shouted at the former Gryffindor, who now appeared concerned more than anything.

"What's wrong?" Harry prodded. They had been together long enough for Harry to know that Draco used anger as a defense mechanism.

"Nothing!" Draco exclaimed, turning and walking over to the closet where he began frantically shoving aside boxes and throwing hangers. Harry stood in the room awkwardly, waiting. Draco whirled around again a second later. "Why is there no closet space?" He demanded.

"We can make some closet space, Draco." Harry said quietly. Draco ignored him.

"Do you realize that your dress robes are mixed in with your everyday robes? You have no system at all! It is absolute chaos in here! If you wanted me to move in so badly you could have at least cleared out some space for my stuff!" Draco shouted, somewhat hysterical at this point.

Harry shook his head. "Okay, calm down. We'll deal with it. I can move some of my everyday robes into the dresser." They both stood there for a moment, Draco panting slightly from his outburst.

"I'm going to make dinner," Harry said finally. "I was thinking pork chops, okay?" Draco loved pork chops, and Harry knew it.

"Do whatever you like!" Draco said snottily, and stormed out of the room. A moment later, Harry heard the front door of the flat slam behind him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Present day. June 16, 2008. Four days later._

Harry and Draco lay serenely in the bed that they now shared. Harry rested his head comfortably in the crook of Draco's neck, while Draco traced patterns on the skin below the other boy's navel. Harry breathed in Draco's scent; a mixture of honey and apple crumble, with a musky quality. He loved now that they had time to simply _be_. Suddenly, they had all the time in the world.

Harry had made the pork chops after Draco had left that night, and the blonde reappeared in time to eat them. As usual, they hadn't talked about what had happened. They always talked about things when it was Harry who was bothered. Draco had never let him get away with "Nothing's wrong" or "I don't want to talk about it". They would talk it through until Harry was certain that he had been concerned about nothing and he would fall asleep perfectly content with the conviction that everything would be alright. It hurt that Draco didn't trust him enough to let him in, to let him be there in the same way that he was there for Harry. But Draco had spent years erecting a complicated set of walls that he surrounded himself with. Although he had let Harry through some of them there were others that he had grown so attached to that letting them down now would mean exposing himself completely. Harry understood. But that didn't mean that it hurt any less.

"Draco?" Harry asked, craning his neck to look up at the preoccupied ex-Slytherin, who was gazing dreamily into the fireplace.

"Yeah?"

"What are you going to do?" Draco looked at him funny, obviously confused. "I mean, as a job. Now that the war is over." Harry tried again, clarifying.

Draco sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think I was ever really Auror material. But I don't know what I would do instead."

Harry thought about this for a moment. "You would make an excellent Potions Master. They're planning on reopening Hogwarts in September." He said finally.

Draco chuckled. "Can you see me teaching a bunch of bratty first-years how to brew a simple confusing concoction? I don't have enough patience for teaching, Harry." He scoffed. "I'd be better than Snape though, that's for sure."

Both boys froze briefly as Draco's words settled in the air.

"Sorry." Draco said wearily. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Harry told him, the tension that had found its way into his jaw releasing.

"I just wish that not every conversation had to lead back to the war, or death, or both." Draco said miserably.

"I know," Harry said, enjoying the feeling of Draco running his hands through the raven hair soflty.. "Me too." They lost themselves in their own thoughts again for awhile, before Draco turned back to Harry.

"What was the name of the charity that threw the ball we went to last week?" He asked. The two had not actually gone _together_, but had managed a "casual" conversation at the punch bowl once or twice during the night.

"Um…" Harry screwed up his face, trying to remember. "WISHES, maybe? It was an acronym though I think. Don't remember what it stood for."

"Right. I remember, it was 'Wizards Insist on Safe Housing for Everyone – Soon!' Kind of catchy, actually." Draco said, amused.

Harry grinned. "I don't know, the exclamation point in the title kind of scares me." He examined Draco thoughtfully. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, I want to be where I'm needed. I'm sure they could use another volunteer. You know, even if I wasn't getting paid it would be great to be involved." Draco said. Harry just stared at him, the surprise evident on his face.

"That's actually a really great idea, Draco." Harry said, pleased.

"You don't have to sound so shocked." Draco grumbled half-heartedly.

"My apologies." Harry replied, and then yawned loudly. It had been another long day.

"Tired?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled, content. "A little." He admitted, closing his eyes.

"_Too_ tired?" Draco pressed on, now grinning in a slightly evil fashion now.

Harry's eyes immediately flew open again. "Never." He replied, and before Draco could respond Harry was on top of him, and his mouth was being gently teased open by another pair of lips. Draco smirked into the kiss, and bit down gently on Harry's lower lip, requesting entrance. It was freely given, and they both allowed themselves to melt into each other, their limbs entangled and their hearts pounding as one. They shed their clothing quickly, and skin touched skin, then lips on skin, and lips on lips once more. Soon, Harry found himself being stroked slowly into a torturous frenzy of quiet whimpers and sparks of pleasure. He moaned helplessly as Draco nipped at his earlobe.

"Like that, huh?" Draco asked, his face just as flushed as Harry's at that point. The words struck a certain chord within Harry, and he gripped the sheet almost desperately as he remembered, as he came violently into Draco's hand.

"Do you remember the first time you said that to me?" Harry asked a minute later, slightly breathless. Draco appeared puzzled for a moment, and then recognition dawned on his face. He smirked widely.

"Do you remember what you said in response?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Flashback.__ April 2, 2005. Nine months into the war. _

"Like that, huh?" Draco asked cockily, smirking all the while as he moved his lips against Harry's shoulder, licking languidly along the place where his shirt met his skin.

"Oh Gods, Malfoy. Don't stop!" Harry pleaded, as he rocked his hips with Malfoy's. Both boys were still fully clothed, and Harry was afraid that if he made a move to change that then this, _thing_, would end. The small of his back was pressed painfully into the edge of the desk that the other boy had pushed him up against, but he wasn't going to complain. He wasn't going to do anything but writhe against this gorgeous body in front of him, and take this moment for all it was worth. This moment…

Harry wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't imagined this moment in his head over and over. He'd seen it happening in his head in a million different ways. Perhaps in an abandoned corridor, where no one would be able to find them? Or a deserted Quidditch Pitch – Malfoy would come looking for a fight, but he'd settle for a fuck instead. Possibly even in the Shrieking Shack, a bathroom in a Hogsmeade shop, the old Room of Requirement back at Hogwarts. He'd never imagined it this way, but somehow it was ten million times better.

They had been sent on yet another assignment with one another, following the trail left behind by one of Voldemort's most prized servants: a man named Mulciber. They had been on the road for days, and when they'd finally made it to the motel, Harry had been in desperate need of a nice, hot shower. When he'd finally exited the bathroom 20 minutes later, he'd found Malfoy lying on the couch, staring at him quietly. There had been something in his eyes that Harry hadn't been able to identify. He wasn't sure who had started it, but the insults had begun to fly seconds later. Since the beginning of the war they had given up the silly childish animosity that they had held at Hogwarts. For the most part. But the tension had been building for at least a month now. A different kind of tension than Harry was used to. Harry wasn't really sure when it had started. But one minute they were screaming and the next they were, well, doing _this_.

Malfoy's hands were on his back now, clutching firmly at the damp t-shirt that Harry had thrown on when he'd stepped out of the shower not even five minutes ago. Harry's grip tightened on Malfoy's waist as the former Slytherin thrust one last time, muffling his scream of release in Harry's shoulder. Harry followed three seconds later, unable to hold himself back any longer. Then Malfoy stiffened against him, and before Harry knew what was happening the other boy had removed himself from the situation, and was headed towards the bathroom.

"Malfoy!" Harry called after him. As soon as the name slipped out of his mouth, he regretted it. He had no idea what to say now. The blonde halted in his tracks, and turned to face the Harry expectantly.

"What, er, I…um, we…" Harry trailed off helplessly. Malfoy smirked, which only served to irritate Harry further.

"What was that?" Harry demanded, finding his voice.

"Don't know," replied Malfoy nonchalantly, unconcerned. "Feel like finding out?"

He said the last part almost playfully, before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Harry merely gaped at the spot where he had just been standing. And suddenly, he knew something. He felt it in his gut.

Things were going to be quite different between him and Malfoy from now on.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback in any form is always appreciated. I'd love to get a review from you – nothing makes me happier! Well, maybe a few things…but it's in the top 10 for sure. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Friends and Other Complications

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I hold no legal claim over Harry Potter or any associated characters. This piece of fan fiction is merely for my own amusement, and possibly others. No profit is being made, and no copyright fringe is intended.

Rating: M

Author's Note: I'm having some issues with the upcoming fourth chapter, so you're going to have to bear with me while I attempt to make it come out the way I want it. But for now we've got the lovely third chapter in my little story, and I hope you all enjoy it!

**Chapter 3 – Friends and Other Complications**

_Flashback.__April 22, 2005__. Three weeks after the "incident" at the motel. _

Draco groaned into his pillow case. It had been a long time since he had felt this angry. He was angry with Potter, the world, but mostly angry at himself. He had told himself a million times that it couldn't happen again. He had no clue what had possessed him that night at the motel, but if his role in this war was to remain out of jeopardy then it couldn't happen again. He had to remind himself sometimes, about the war. The very idea of war had loomed on the horizon for so many years that its newfound presence in reality seemed somehow unreal. But it was something he had to acknowledge, just as he had to acknowledge that Potter and this war were linked in ways he couldn't begin to comprehend. Everyone had faith in Potter, everyone was expecting Potter to end Voldemort once and for all. This just so happened to make him #1 on Voldemort's hit list. Which meant that anyone who so much as smiled at the other boy could end up dead 24 hours later. He shuddered to think at what would be done to someone found shagging him. If he were to hazard a guess, torture would probably be involved. Lots of torture. Potter was just an utterly impractical attachment that he couldn't afford to indulge.

Draco had told himself these things over and over again. He did not see why he continued to fixate on that one night. Consciously, he attempted to push the boy from his mind. But his subconscious brought him vivid images of Potter on a nightly basis. Dreams in which Draco relived that night over and over, tasting Potter's flesh and watching the raven-haired boy biting his lip to keep from crying out. The last time he had reported to his father at Malfoy manor, he had spent three hours searching the library for possible hexes or curses he could be under the influence of. It was a ridiculous notion that Draco soon dismissed, admitting finally that the culprit was more likely his hormones.

He blamed his hormones for what had happened earlier today. Something that never should have happened, which anyone in their right mind would have immediately seen. It had been a perfectly ordinary day at the ministry. He'd spent all morning researching counter-jinxes to be used against the Incarcerous incantation. It was a complete waste of time, and Draco knew it. Basically, this was the ministry's way of keeping him busy while keeping an eye on him at the same time. No one really trusted him, which was just fine because Draco didn't trust them either. But in a weird way, he trusted Potter. He trusted that Potter would win them the war, because that was just the sort of thing that the Gryffindor did. He won. All of the time, which had been a constant source of annoyance back at Hogwarts. Draco wasn't stupid though. If it would save his life, then Draco was willing to sacrifice a bit of his pride. This was the decision he had come to last year, when Hogwarts had closed and he had been faced with a choice. Murderer or blood traitor? Draco had chosen blood traitor. It had a certain ring to it.

Back to his work at the ministry. As usual, Draco had soon grown frustrating with his lack of progress. He went out for coffee and came back a few moments later, planning to stop by Natalie McDonald's cubicle on the way back to his own desk to ask if she'd had better luck than him. He never got there though. Standing right across the room, talking casually with an Auror named Perenell Fenwick, was Potter. His instincts immediately screamed at him to bolt out of that room as fast as possible. To leave before Potter saw him. But instead he stood there like a complete ponce, simply staring until the heat of his stare drew Harry's eyes away from Fenwick for a brief moment. A brief moment in which they locked eyes, and surprise mixed with a dash of conflict was evident in Potter's face. Then the moment was over. Harry went back to his conversation, and Draco turned and exited the room.

How they had both ended up in the washroom eight minutes later, Draco had no idea. But he was almost hard already, just remembering what had soon after occurred. He had walked into the room and seen Potter washing his face in the sink. The Gryffindor stood up, and Draco suddenly found himself face to face with the boy he had been trying so hard to forget. But unlike in the hall, they were alone. Draco registered this in the back of his mind as a dangerous situation. Flashing lights announcing warnings such as "Stop!" and "Avoid Unbearable Sexual Tension – Run!" but Draco had neither the presence of mind nor the inclination to pay them attention.

Potter had greeted him with a forced calm that Malfoy was seized with the urge to grab and shatter on the floor. But instead, he heard himself making a remark about the weather. He heard Harry reply courteously, and then felt himself being slammed against the wall. His mouth was attacked savagely, then his neck. Soon, they were pawing at each other desperately, almost viciously. Potter's hand was down his trousres, which was only fair because Draco had his tongue down Potter's throat.

It was just four hours ago, yet the scene playing in his mind was foggy and lacking clarity. If he didn't have bruises he would be wondering if it was just another dream. It was similar to the dreams in some ways, but completely different in others. Potter made the first move, for one. He wouldn't have expected that of the boy. In his dreams Malfoy was always the instigator, and being pushed up against that wall had thrown him off. It hadn't been entirely unpleasant though. Malfoy remembered Potter's lips on his neck, sucking and teasing the sensitive skin at his collarbone. Potter pulling Draco's shirt off before throwing his own on the floor. Potter's hand reaching into his boxers, pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point.

Draco shuddered, and sighed heavily as he resigned himself to his fate. Reaching down, he grasped his erection firmly. The physical relief was evident in his moan. Fisting his cock roughly, Draco remembered the hard definition of Potter's abs, and the sweat collecting on his brow as they both tottered on the edge of release.

Moments later, Draco came violently while choking on the name of a boy he had sworn to hate as it tore from his lips.

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_Present Day.__June 29, 2008_

The voices of people rose and fell within the rhythm of conversation, nearly drowning out the soft jazz that played in the background of a crowded restaurant. Three old friends sat in the corner, taking place in a ritual that they had started several years ago when the war first began. Every Thursday night, they met up and had dinner together.

It didn't sound very special, but it had been one of the things that had kept Harry sane throughout the turmoil of war. Unless it was physically impossible, he could count on Hermione and Ron to be there on that one night. When the war ended they decided to continue the dinners, even though they often saw each other at other times in the week. It felt safe for all three of them to have something they could rely upon.

Draco knew where Harry was of course. Hermione, Ron, and Draco had gotten along well enough since Draco's allegiances had switched. They certainly weren't friends, but they were civil. If Draco had happened to walk into their restaurant on a Thursday night, it was likely that Hermione would invite him to sit down. But Draco had never shown up like that. If it was Harry in Draco's position, he wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation. Draco however, seemed entirely indifferent where Thursday nights were concerned. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was always a weird tension that surface when Harry mentioned his Thursday excursions outright. Draco preferred to treat Thursdays as he would any other night. Harry wasn't sure what it was exactly. He had no clue what it was that Draco did on Thursday nights. But he figured it was best not to pry. After all, Draco never pried.

"She's going mad! Absolutely bonkers! Really Harry, how many weddings have you been to where there were six different appetizers to choose from?" Ron asked, exasperated.

Harry shrugged. "I've never been to a wedding, actually."

"That's not true, you went to Bill and Fleur's wedding." Hermione pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "No I didn't, remember? That was the switched Portkey incident."

Hermione winced. "I'd forgotten about that."

"It landed McNair in Azkaban though, so it wasn't for nothing. Right, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Right." Harry sighed wearily. Good to know that his hours of endured torture had been worthwhile.

"Having six appetizers is just good sense, Ron." Hermione said, plowing on in an attempt to remove any signs of awkwardness. "It gives the guests plenty of options, and we need be considerate of the differences in diet among the wizarding world. You couldn't very well serve a vampire garlic bread, could you?" Hermione asked.

"You've invited a vampire to our WEDDING!" Ron accused hotly, spitting out his butterbeer.

"Well, no." Hermione conceded. "But-"

"I will give you _two_ appetizers. That's it. Two." Ron told her firmly. "And while we're on the subject of wedding food, I refuse to allow you to serve that zucchini stir fry…tofu…_thing_ I overheard you and mum talking about this morning."

"But what about the vegetarians?" Hermione asked, clearly distressed.

"The wedding is being held outside. They can get on their hands and knees and eat the grass for all I care." Ron said cheekily.

"That is _not_ funny, Ron." Hermione said, glaring at him sternly. She turned her attention to Harry. "You'll never guess who we ran into the other day, Harry." Hermione began slyly, changing the direction of conversation completely in the process. "Hannah Abbott! She was asking about you, so I told her that…"

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. He knew what was coming. Hermione and Ron had been trying to set him up for quite some time now. Each attempt proved more futile than the last, especially considering that every single one of his prospective "soul mates" happened to lack a certain Y chromosome. In other words, his friends didn't know he was gay.

Harry had never really meant to keep this a secret from them. It was just that, when he finally figured it out there was a war being waged around them. Harry had sort of put it aside in favour of more important things. It seemed at the time that everyone already had more than enough to deal with. Now there was nothing stopping him. Yet he and Draco had been keeping their relationship a secret for so long now that it had just become part of what they were, and Harry was afraid to change that. Although they had been together in some form or another for over three years now, their relationship had never been a stable one. There had been an awkward conversation instigated by Harry after the first year, in which they had agreed that they were "dating". Despite this, the term "boyfriend" was never brought up, most likely because they had never had the chance to use it. But also because there was a certain reluctance to define anything about what they were to each other or what they did with each other. It made it a bit too "real world" somehow. Harry smirked briefly as he imagined saying, "This is my boyfriend, Draco" only to have each and every person in the imaginary room faint away in shock. He snorted.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked, curious.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Look, I appreciate the thought, but I'm fine by myself right now."

"What about our wedding Harry?" Hermione prodded. "At least bring a date to the wedding. You need to get out there more!"

Harry paused. He wasn't sure how to reply. After all, they believed he hadn't had a date in over five years. If that had actually been the case, they would have a very good case.

"What about Cho Chang? She's working for Gringotts now, Bill says she's still single." Ron suggested.

Harry shook his head. Him and Cho? What a disaster that would be! Even if he _wasn't_ gay.

"Or Luna? I mean, she is a bit odd. But she's really quite sweet!" Hermione said.

"Maybe Parvati Patil?" Ron offered.

He wished they'd just stop throwing names at him. His head was starting to hurt.

"Or Lavender?" Hermione added.

"I'm already seeing someone." Harry blurted out. He regretted the words immediately, as both of his friends stared at him, stunned.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't think they can come to the wedding though." Harry said quickly.

Ron frowned. "Well why not?"

Harry exhaled loudly, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose while he pushed his glasses up. "It's complicated." He said finally.

"We want to meet her, Harry." Hermione said firmly.

Harry nodded vaguely, unwilling to correct the improper placement of the pronoun "her". He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.

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_Present day. Later that same night._

Harry turned the key in its lock quietly, hesitant to make any noise. He was coming home much later then he had expected, having been unable to get Hermione and Ron to stop pestering him about his "clandestine lover" as Hermione had put it. Harry crept quietly across the floor, taking care to avoid the creaky floorboards. Draco was already in bed, having fallen asleep with the lights still on. Draco had made such a fuss about having those two bedside lamps. He had insisted that Harry remove them at first, and then complained loudly for some while about the ineffectiveness of "ekletricty" and muggle inventions in general. But when Harry flicked the switch, Draco's eyes lit up in interest. Harry had come back from work one day to find a sulky Draco nursing a rather severe burn to his hand, insisting that the lamp had "attacked him". Draco had learned, and knew better than to touch the light bulbs now.

Harry undressed as quietly as possible, and flicked off the lights as he slipped into the bed.

"How are Mr. and Mrs. Weasel?" Draco asked sleepily, startling Harry.

"I didn't know you were awake." Harry admitted. "And they're not Mr. and Mrs. Weasel quite yet."

Draco grunted in recognition of this fact. A long pause, and then, "Harry?" Draco asked, in an uncharacteristically small voice.

"Yeah?"

Another long pause. "Nothing." Draco said eventually, staring at the ceiling of their bedroom.

"No, what?" Harry pressed. He turned on the bedside light again and propped himself up on one elbow to face the other boy. He'd been expecting something like this for awhile now. It wasn't hard to tell when something was on Draco's mind. It was only a matter of when it would make itself known.

"Just, isn't it weird that your two best mates don't even know that you're living with someone now?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. It hasn't caused any problems yet."

Draco nodded hesitantly. "But what if they came over one day without any warning? They might be a little bit concerned to find us shagging in the kitchen or something."

Harry snorted. "If it happens, we'll deal with it."

Draco sat up. "So you don't think it's important enough to let them know?"

Harry sighed. "That's not what I meant."

Draco scrambled out of the bed. "Really? Then why are we walking around carrying all of these secrets? Harry tried to speak, but Draco didn't give him the chance. "You know what I think, Potter?" Harry winced at the use of his surname, which Draco only reverted to when he was truly ticked off. "I think you're ashamed. You think that if you tell one person they'll tell someone else. And then they'll tell someone else, and before you know it the Prophet will be running stories about The-Boy-Who-Took-It-Up-The-Arse, or The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Fuck-A-Malfoy." Draco sneered. "You can't handle the bad press."

Harry shook with anger. "How can you even say that!" Harry yelled. "I couldn't give a fuck what the press says about me, it's all bollocks anyway. You know that doesn't matter to me!"

"Then what's the big deal, huh? Why doesn't anyone know?" Draco demanded.

"Nobody knows because we _both_ decided that keeping this relationship a secret was for the best!"

Draco glared at him hotly. "There was a _war_ going on you moron! In case you haven't noticed, that war is over now!"

"Just because the war is over it doesn't mean the complications of the war can be disregarded. You can't just ignore that" Harry said brutally.

"I'm not ignoring anything, Harry. I just don't understand! This thing…_us_…we were a liability during the war. I didn't fancy having a bunch of Death Eaters asking me why I was buggering Dumbledore's Golden Boy! But things have changed now!"

Harry's face was white, and Draco briefly wondered why before retracing his words. Dumbledore.

"Get out." Harry told Draco quietly.

"Harry, I'm sorry." Draco tried, regretting his momentary lapse.

"Get out!" Harry yelled, and he pushed Draco out into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Draco leaned against the door, cursing to himself quietly. He slid slowly to the floor, and wrapped his arms around his knees. There were a few unspoken rules that existed between Harry and himself. Some of them were small. For instance, blue cheese was not allowed in the apartment because it made Draco ill. And you weren't allowed to make any noise when Harry was watching something called football on the muggle box they kept in the living room. What was it called? TB?

But there were several others that were much bigger. Nobody was allowed to touch the Firebolt that hung above the fireplace, and it was not a good idea to ask Harry why he never flew with it anymore (he had learned this from personal experience). They always left the bedroom door open when they went to bed because after the cupboard under the stairs Harry didn't like to feel confined. Any mention of August 17th and Draco would bite your head off. He hated to be reminded of night, when he had been forced to reveal his true loyalties to his father. The hours that had followed that confession…they were best forgotten. Closely linked to this was Draco's unwillingness to permit any mention of Lucius.

But the number one unspoken rule – Dumbledore's name was never to be uttered. Draco could hear Harry's attempts to keep himself quiet, when it was quite clear that he was muffling his sobs with a pillow.

"Harry?" Draco called out after a few minutes had passed. "Can I come in?" He got no reply, and so after another minute he opened the door. Harry's face was still buried in the pillow, but he seemed to have stopped crying. Draco was relieved. There was a kind of panic that seized him at witnessing Harry break down. Harry was supposed to be strong. Draco knew this was an entirely unrealistic expectation, but it still shook him to see the saviour of the wizarding world so vulnerable.

He lay down beside Harry and rubbed his back somewhat awkwardly until Harry mumbled something into the pillow.

"What did you say?" Draco asked.

"I'm sorry." Harry said, turning to face Draco. His eyes were red and his skin was all blotchy, but Draco kissed him anyway.

"Don't be sorry for anything." Draco told him, but he relaxed slightly at the apology.

"I just can't deal with it all right now." Harry said quietly. One major benefit that the war had brought was that it had allowed him to suppress the more painful memories as he attempted to keep his head above water. But now that the water was gone, his dreams showed Harry a deserted beach, littered with corpses. He woke up screaming, no longer haunted by the images that Voldemort had allowed him access to, but instead by the images conjured up by his own mind.

Draco pulled the other boy closer to him, and stroked his arm softly. They stayed that way for awhile, until Harry looked at him slyly.

"I just had a thought." He announced, sounding a bit too pleased with himself.

"And what would that be?" Draco said, humouring him.

Harry smiled. "How do you feel about weddings?" He asked. Draco appeared puzzled, clearly having forgotten where the argument had originally begun. Harry reached over to the bedside table and held the invitation out to Draco, who took it curiously. He read it over quickly.

"So what, we show up on the happiest day of their lives and announce that we're dating?" Draco said skeptically. Then he chuckled. "Actually, that could be fun. What do you think the likelihood is that Weasley would pass out?"

Harry frowned slightly. "No, of course we can't do it like that." A sudden stroke of genius hit him. "You'll come next Thursday." Draco furrowed his brow, unable to discern if Harry was joking or not.

"It'll be fun, I promise." Harry encouraged. Draco nodded slowly, but he doubted it. Harry turned out the light, and Draco lay there for awhile, feeling oddly relieved, and yet very nervous at the same time. Next Thursday…

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**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed it. As always, I would be ever so happy to get a review from you, letting me know what you think – what you liked, what you didn't like…Thanks for taking the time to read my newest update!**


	4. Thursday

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I hold no legal claim over Harry Potter or any associated characters. This piece of fan fiction is merely for my own amusement, and possibly others. No profit is being made, and no copyright fringe is intended.

Rating: M

Author's Note: Gah! Finally! This chapter was the source of quite a bit of anguish and writer's block frustration for me. But I'm relatively pleased with how it turned out in the end – I hope you are too!

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**Chapter 4 – Thursday**

_Flashback.__July 26, 2005__. Four months since the first "incident" occurred._

Four different heads bent over four different books in a dank, musty library that smelled faintly of mothballs. They were _still_ in the process of cleaning Grimmauld Palace, but the old house was putting up quite a fight. Harry didn't really care all that much, to be perfectly honest. It would never be a home to him, no matter what Sirius' will said. But it had been reinstated as the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry was happy to leave it as such. He still dreaded having to spend time there. Unfortunately, the occasion called for it today. With time between assignments, he, Hermione, and Ron had been going through the many books of the Black family's extensive collection of Dark Arts material. Of six Horcruxes, only two had been destroyed – Riddle's diary and the ring that Dumbledore had sacrificed his hand for. It had been over a year since their former Headmaster's death, and no further attempts to destroy the remaining Horcruxes had been possible. Harry was fairly certain that Dumbledore was right concerning the true nature of the snake Nagini, Voldemort's pet. But she would be hard to get to. The other three were Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, and something of either Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. Most likely Ravenclaw's, seeing as Harry was the proud owner of the ruby-encrusted sword that had previously belonged in Dumbledore's office. Gryffindor's only known remaining relic.

They were searching for "hot spots", as Lupin put it. There were certain locations that radiated Dark energy, and any of these may be home to one of the remaining three Horcruxes whose locations they had not yet ascertained. They cross-referenced these sites with the available knowledge of the four founders of Hogwarts, in an attempt to find specific "hiding spots" that might appeal to Voldemort. They researched diligently, writing down a site now and then that required further investigation. The most promising of theories were eventually scouted by Ministry-trained Aurors, who would report back. Nothing yet of course, but that didn't mean they were going to stop trying. Eventually, they would find something. Eventually.

Malfoy was the fourth head bent over in the library that day. They made an unusual group, but his knowledge of the Dark Arts was once again proving to be an invaluable resource. In the past hour he had added six more locations to their ever-growing list. His help was appreciated, and for that reason neither Hermione nor Ron had yet to make a snide remark. Harry wasn't planning on making one either. It might cut into his extracurricular activities…

Dear Lord, he didn't know what to think. It had happened too many times now to be a coincidence. It was bordering on an arrangement, in fact. They hadn't gone past hand jobs during the first few encounters, but that had eventually escalated to blow jobs. No actual penetration though, and as far as Harry was concerned it was going to stay that way. That would be going too far. Besides, Malfoy's tongue was more than enough to send him over the edge.

He really shouldn't be thinking along those lines if he wanted to get anything done. But now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop. Malfoy's tongue, running along his throat, down to his collarbone, his abdomen, lower and lower. The heat of Malfoy's mouth engulfing him, the pressure building up as he tried not to scream when-

"That's enough!" Ron exclaimed, slamming his book down on the table. Harry jumped in fright, before realizing that Ron wasn't addressing him directly. Hermione and Draco both put their books down as well, looking over at Ron's sudden outburst. "This is a complete waste of time!" Ron said, exhaling loudly in frustration.

Hermione sighed. "I know it seems like that sometimes, Ron. But at least we've been able to eliminate some of the possibilities, narrow the field a little bit."

"We're at _war_, Hermione! We should be out fighting, not held captive in a library drawing up lists!" Ron said with force.

"No one's holding you captive, Weasel. I won't hold it against you if you want to leave. In fact, it would please me greatly." Malfoy said snidely.

"Maybe we should just take a break." Harry suggested, but his idea went unheard. The redhead and Slytherin continued to glare at one another.

"The war's in a holding pattern right now, Ron." Hermione tried again. "I know it doesn't feel like much, but we're doing what we can by drawing up these lists."

"What I really want to know is why we're sitting here, researching these hot spots, when there's a rather obvious hot spot that we've been bluntly ignoring all along." Ron said. "And this one," He nodded towards Malfoy, "Knows exactly how to get at it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Malfoy told him coldly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Malfoy Manor! Come on, Malfoy. You're telling me that your shelves aren't lined with Dark antiques, any of which could be one of these three Horcruxes we're all so eager to get our hands on? That even your kitchen utensils aren't loaded with more curses than most of the accounts at Gringotts?"

Malfoy just glared at him haughtily.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly. "Now's not the time." Harry was nervously running his finger along the groove of the wooden table, trying not to get involved.

"No. I think now is exactly the time. Why won't you give up the Manor, Malfoy? Or maybe you're not as redeemed as everyone seems to think you are."

Malfoy was shooting daggers with his eyes now. But Ron was just getting started.

"You tell the Order that you're spying on the Death Eaters. But you tell the Death Eaters that you're spying on the Order. Which is it, Malfoy? Why isshould we place our trust in you when your loyalties aren't even clear?" Ron asked viciously.

Malfoy stood up suddenly. "For starters, Weasel, if you don't trust me then that's your own fault. I'm not going to attempt to prove myself to someone like _you_. And yes, for once you happen to be right. I am a _spy_. My father and I are the only two wizards that have access to the Manor. So if it were suddenly to be invaded by the Ministry, who do you think would be blamed? I'm not planning on sacrificing my position in order to lay your suspicions to rest, Weasley."

"You just couldn't bear to see it go, could you? Because that's all you have Malfoy, is your filthy blood money and everything it's bought you! Lot of good it's done, seeing as you don't have a friend in the world!" Ron shouted, standing up to stare on level with Malfoy once more.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think the Manor is to me? All it's ever been is a bunch of filthy, rotting memories that I would sooner forget than be haunted by. When Malfoy Manor is finally taken, it will be me that lights the match and burns the place to the ground. But for now, that place is inaccessible. Discussion closed." Malfoy spat the last few words, looking very much as though he wished to light a match and set Ron on fire at that moment.

The glaring match continued for awhile longer. Finally Hermione cleared the silence. "Actually, Harry, that break sounds like a good idea. It's time for lunch anyway. Why don't we head to the kitchen?"

"Brilliant. I'll lead the way." Malfoy said coldly, stalking out of the room.

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_Present Day.__July 6, 2005__. Next Thursday. _

Draco paced nervously back and forth in the little kitchen of Harry's apartment. Well, technically it was his apartment now too, he supposed. It was weird to think of it that way though. It would always be Harry's apartment to him. The evidence of Harry's presence in the flat was all over. After all, Draco would never own a mug with the words, "Jesus is coming. Stash your porn." Draco filled the mug with the butterbeer that Harry kept on tap and took a long swig. Harry claimed that Seamus had given the mug to him as a birthday present one year. Of course, Draco had reminded him, that didn't mean he needed to keep it. After all, what was the likelihood that Seamus was going to come over and demand to drink out of that particular mug? Harry just shrugged and said that he thought it was funny. Draco snorted to himself. He hadn't even understood until Harry had explained the whole "Jesus" thing. The mug was obnoxious, lewd, and completely idiotic. He thought it was funny too, but he wasn't going to admit it.

Harry was late, again, and they needed to leave any minute if they expected to be at the restaurant in time to meet his friends when Harry had said they would.

Draco was getting more antsy by the second. He couldn't really Apparate over to the Ministry and ask for Harry – they'd want a reason. Draco figured that "He's late for our date" wouldn't exactly go over well.

Draco knew that he was blowing it out of proportion. So Harry was late – big deal. But everything had seemed like a "big deal" lately, and Draco found himself throwing tantrums over the tiniest of incidents. It wasn't just him, either. Harry was certainly holding his end up as well. Something had been wrong between them for awhile now. When the war had first ended, it had seemed like everything was perfect; unbreakable. But soon after, everything had begun to catch up with them. And Draco had no idea what to do about it.

Harry still woke up in the middle of the night, wrenched from some horrible nightmare by the sounds of his own screaming. He wasn't the only one – Draco battled his own nighttime demons. And they could hold each other, but they could never quite make whatever it was between them dissolve. Because there was definitely something between them now. There was something that made Draco hold back, and something that made Harry hold back. What those somethings were, Draco didn't even know. He just wanted it gone. Wanted things the way they had been before.

But right now he just wanted to know what was keeping Harry. Maybe he had forgotten all about it and gone to Thursday night dinner without Draco? That thought was almost relieving, but the probability was slim. Harry had mentioned the dinner plans this morning on his way out the door. Had said that he'd Apparate to their apartment at quarter to six, change quickly, and they could walk over to the restaurant together. It was now 6:17. They were supposed to meet Weasley and Granger there at 6:30.

It was strange, this idea of "meeting the friends". Because of course he had met them many times before. And if first impressions were going to be brought up tonight, then he wasn't looking forward to this at all. He'd been a prat at Hogwarts, and he wasn't looking forward to being vulnerable tonight in front of two people whose vulnerability he had exploited at every possible opportunity for a good six years of his life.

Another thing he was jealous of. Harry had real friends. Draco had never had anything that resembled a real friendship, and he was painfully aware of it. Crabbe and Goyle were hunchmen, not mates. Draco had lost track of them during the war. Had no clue now whether either of them were dead or alive. If he wanted to, he supposed that he could drudge up some old records, go through list after list of all the deceased. But he was afraid of what he might find. Sometimes it was better not knowing.

Pansy, for instance. She had always been a fly, a mere nuisance that he had amused some days and swatted away on others. She'd proved to be more dangerous than he would have labeled her. He'd been forced to watch her, in the early part of the war when he was still acting as a spy, enjoying the anguished cries of whatever victims had found their way into the Death Eater's circle that week. He'd seen the blood lust on her face. She was Bellatrix all over again. In the end, she had gone out with a bang, taking two top-notch Aurors with her.

A few of his old schoolmates had scheduled hearings coming up soon. Theodore Nott – tortured and killed over a dozen young children. All had been raised in Muggle homes, had been both shocked and ecstatic upon receiving their Hogwarts letters, the verification that they were special. Magical. The "Mudbloods" were all dead within 48 hours of receiving their letters.

Blaise Zabini – Draco didn't want to think about it. There were at least twenty hospital beds in St. Mungo's that were filled because of that son of a bitch. Many of those patients would be there indefinitely. Many might still not survive.

Yes. Those were his friends. Draco laughed bitterly, and filled the mug again. He looked at it for a moment, before pouring it down the sink. That was exactly what he _didn't_ need tonight. Going to this dinner completely pissed wasn't going to help matters any. He'd have to drown his sorrows another night.

"Draco?" He heard Harry calling from the other room. Finally!

"Well, it's about time." He said haughtily, walking into the living room. He expected to find Harry, but instead found only his head, sticking out of the fireplace looking guilty.

"I'm not going to be able to make it home first. Can we just meet there?" Harry asked.

"We're supposed to be there in less than five minutes!" Draco said indignantly.

"I've told them we'll be a little late. I'm sorry Draco, but I can't leave until we've finished going over this case."

Draco looked slightly panicked. "What if I show up and you aren't there yet? They'll assault me or something!"

"I'm sure you'll be able to hold your own." Harry teased. Draco just huffed.

"So glad to know you're concerned about my well-being." He complained.

Harry sighed. "How about this: I'll show up for 7:00, and you can show up for 7:10. That way we'll be sure that I arrive before you, and you won't have to brave them alone."

Draco tapped his foot impatiently. "We were supposed to arrive together." He said stubbornly.

Harry shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry, but I'll see you there, okay?"

"Great. Just _great_." Draco said, before glaring at Harry and stalking out of the living room in a huff.

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_Approximately 50 minutes later. _

Harry sat in the restaurant with Hermione and Ron again, looking nervously at the clock on the wall. It was 7:15, and he was starting to worry that after everything Draco wouldn't even bother to show up. Hermione put her hand on his arm in a reassuring manner. "I'm sure she'll be here any minute." She said, smiling. Harry twitched involuntarily. Actually, this coming separately thing might not have been such a bad idea. It gave him a bit of a chance to break up the shock into little pieces, instead of dumping it all on them at once.

In some ways, he couldn't even believe he was about to do this. Just come right out and tell them? It was a scene that he had rehearsed in his head thousands of times, both before and after he and Draco had become…whatever it was they had become. He had had visions of hugs and renewed vows of friendship and loyalty, and he had also imagined looks of shock, disappointment, even revulsion or disgust. He knew the latter reaction would be unlikely, but it haunted him nonetheless. That was one thing he could be thankful of, at least. After tonight he would no longer have to imagine their reactions.

Harry coughed. "Erm, actually there's something I should probably tell you before they get here." He adjusted his glasses on his nose nervously. It was silly, he thought, to be so worried. His friends could handle this. If his friends could handle cursed scars, nighttime possession, condemning prophecies, and, the finale, a brutal and bloody murder, then they could handle this. And so, because he didn't know how else to go about it, he just plain blurted it out.

"I'm gay."

Their table was silent for approximately 2.18 seconds. In Harry's opinion, there had never been a longer 2.18 seconds. Hermione and Ron both continued to look at him. Finally the surprise registered, and Hermione exclaimed, "Oh, Harry! Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

Harry shrugged. "There was a war. I just figured that we had more important things on our minds." He looked at them both, trying to judge their reactions. "Are you guys okay with this?"

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "We're your best friends, Harry! And, well…I can't say that I haven't had my suspicions from time to time." Harry was surprised at that. He'd never thought of himself as being obviously gay. Hermione tried to explain. "When you've known someone for over 10 years Harry, there are things you pick up on. You barely dated in school, and I've never seen you openly checking out a woman before. I can put two and two together. I didn't want to say anything though, in case you weren't aware of it yourself."

Ron had seemed to shake himself out of his stupor by that point. "I've known him for over 10 years too, and I never noticed anything!"

"That's because you're _you_, Ron." Hermione told him kindly, but in a slightly patronizing tone. Harry looked over at Ron questioningly. He still didn't know what his other friend thought about this new revelation. Ron caught his gaze and shrugged.

"Doesn't bother me, mate." He said.

Hermione nodded approvingly and turned back to Harry. "So I assume the person we're waiting for is a 'he' and not a 'she'?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, relieved. He didn't know why he had been so worried. They were his friends. They accepted him for who he was. But as many times as he had told himself that, it felt really good to have the evidence in front of him right now.

"He should be here soon." Harry checked the clock again. 7:20. "We had a bit of a tiff earlier. He was a bit angry that we weren't going to arrive together. I think he's a little anxious about it." Harry felt a bit hypocritical saying that, considering that the butterflies in his stomach were intensifying with every minute. He wasn't sure what he was more worried about: the idea that Draco wouldn't show up, or the idea that he _would_. He didn't get a chance to figure it out though, because at that moment the very same blonde walked into the restaurant.

"Huh, look who just came in." Hermione announced. "We should say hello, I think it would be-" She paused, and her eyes widened. "Oh." She said quietly, and she looked over at Harry with new interest, almost as though she were studying him.

Being the one facing away from the door, Ron still had no clue as to who had just walked in. He alternated between looking at Hermione and Harry, trying to figure out what had happened. "What?" Ron asked.

"Oh!" Hermione said again, looking at Harry with a curious look that Harry wasn't sure what to make of. Across the room, Draco was speaking to the Maitre d', who nodded in the direction of their table. As Draco headed over, Hermione's eyes seemed to grow wider, as though she hadn't truly believed it until that moment.

"What!" Ron asked again, clearly growing agitated. "Stop it, both of you! What is it!" Hermione started to giggle, and Harry just stared at her. It wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting, but it was better than death threats so he let it go.

"Hi. Sorry I'm late." Draco said awkwardly, coming up from behind Ron. Ron's neck snapped around, and his jaw dropped. Harry wasn't sure exactly what Ron did next, but it had appeared to be an attempt to stand up a little bit too quickly, forgetting himself in the process. A split second later, Ron was on the floor, his legs haphazardly tangled with those of his chair. Now Hermione really was giggling, holding her hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. Harry was having a hard time not cracking up himself, as Ron accepted help from a nearby waiter while the rest of the restaurant's patrons looked on. Draco looked to be a little more in his element now, offering Ron a smug smirk once they were at the same eye level once more. "All right there, Weasley? He asked with an edge of mock concern, sitting down beside Harry. Ron managed to get himself back into his seat, still gaping at Malfoy.

"I think you both know my boyfriend, Draco?" Harry asked, the smile still playing on his face. Draco raised his eyebrow at the "B" word, but didn't say anything.

"Nice to see you again, Draco." Hermione said pleasantly, while Ron continued to stare, bug-eyed, at the couple across from him.

"Likewise." Draco returned, feeling awkward and very much on display.

"I thought maybe you weren't going to show up." Harry said quietly, as Hermione told Ron to close his mouth and stop staring.

"I know. I'm sorry." Draco replied. "I was just about to Apparate over, when an owl showed up with the reply from WISHES. They need extra help in Brightvale, so I'm going to start next week."

"You're building houses?" Ron asked in amazement, managing to find his tongue again.

"Is it safe?" Harry asked worriedly. The Death Eater threat was still very real, and Draco had been warned numerous times by both Harry and the Ministry not to put himself at risk.

"There's plenty of surveillance on the sites." Draco assured, slightly irritated. He knew that Harry was only looking out for him, but the past few weeks had felt like house arrest. Plus, he didn't want to look like a child in front of Granger and the Weasel.

"I think that's a great idea." Hermione said, shooting a warning look in Ron's direction. "Though I have to say, I can't really picture you holding a hammer, Malfoy."

"A what?" Draco asked, clearly confused.

"Of course, the actual contractors will be dealing with the more difficult jobs." She assured him. "I did some work with Habitat for Humanity with my family when we were all still in school."

"Who?" Ron asked, giving Hermione an odd look.

"I don't think that wizards build houses the same way the muggles do, Hermione." Harry guessed, looking from Draco's face to Ron's. Both appeared to be entirely bewildered.

"Oh," Hermione blushed. She didn't like to be caught not knowing something. "Right. Of course."

"Building a house is mostly about spell-casting." Draco explained. "Protection spells and the like."

Ron looked over to Harry and Hermione curiously. "How _do_ muggles build houses?"

"Well, the basic idea involves nailing pieces of wood together to make a frame, installing roofing and house wrap." Harry told them.

"Manually?" Draco asked. Harry nodded, and Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"How long does it take?" Ron asked curiously.

Harry looked to Hermione. "I don't really know. With plumbing and electric…maybe a couple months?"

"_Months_!" Ron asked, astounded. "How do they get anything _done_?"

"Completely inefficient." Draco muttered in agreement.

"Well, there you go." Hermione said, grinning at the two boys. "You both agree on something for once."

Draco and Ron looked at each other in surprise, then quickly looked away.

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_Later that night._

"I'm telling you Malfoy, it's impossible. I am unbeatable." Ron claimed, as he helped Hermione into her coat.

"You've got a pretty high opinion of yourself there, Weasley." Draco told him with a smirk, but it wasn't entirely unkind.

"Rightly so. I'm the king of Wizard's Chess." Ron said boastfully. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"We'll see about that." Draco challenged. "Once you've been beaten you won't be so cocky."

"You're on." Ron replied, as the four exited the restaurant.

"I hate to break this up, but we've got to get home." Harry told them.

Hermione gave them a strange look. "Home?"

"You're living together?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry caught himself too late, and smiled sheepishly. "That was the last secret, I promise."

"It had better be." Hermione told him sternly. "I don't think Ron or I could handle any more tonight." She looked over to Malfoy. "Not that we didn't have a wonderful time." She added quickly. Malfoy just nodded.

"Well, I don't know about everyone else, but I'm going to go home to bed." Ron said, yawning. "I promise not to be too disappointed if I wake up tomorrow and this wasn't a dream." Harry just laughed.

"Well, goodnight then." Hermione said cheerfully. She smiled at them both, and pulled Harry in for a hug. "He really has changed." She said softly into Harry's ear. He grinned, and squeezed her extra tightly. The power of friendship, he thought suddenly, should never be underestimated.

Hermione hesitated for a moment before hugging Draco as well, albeit more briefly. Harry stifled back the chuckle that formed in his throat at the look of pure astonished horror on Draco's face. Harry accepted a good back-thumping hug from Ron as well, who then faced Malfoy awkwardly. Finally, the redhead stuck out his hand grudgingly. "No hard feelings, Malfoy?"

Draco was clearly surprised, but accepted the hand that was offered to him. "No hard feelings." He agreed.

"Feel free to come next week, if you'd like." Hermione told him generously, as Ron made a small noise of protest beside her.

"We'll see. But thank you." Draco said, looking over at Weasley. Harry saw the look. He wasn't sure either of them could handle the other one on a weekly basis. But tonight had definitely been a step in the right direction. And as the two couples went their separate ways, Harry thought to himself that he hadn't been this happy in a long time.

So when he woke up to his own screams hours later, he was almost surprised.

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_Flashback.__August 17th, 2006__. The night of Draco's abduction._

_"DRACO!"_

_His lover had successfully Stunned two of the Death Eaters that had filled the room. They swarmed around both boys like locusts, and in the confusion Harry could barely make out the shape of the little wooden box cradled in Draco's arms. They could not lose that box. _

_"Get out of here NOW, Harry!" Draco screamed at him, almost tripping over one of the many bodies that littered the ground. None dead, but a few of those Death Eaters would have pretty bad headaches come tomorrow morning. _

_"I'm not leaving!" Harry yelled back, flinging another hex at the tall figure by the piano. He felt a retaliating hex rip through his belly, burning his insides. Strange to think this was someone's house, someone's living room transformed into a battleground. But Harry wouldn't leave it without Draco. Couldn't. _

_"Take it, Harry!" Draco yelled across the room. The desperation was evident in his voice, making him sound unusually vulnerable. All Order members had been trained for this. Harry was to be protected at all costs. No sacrifice was too great. It was drilled into their heads from Day 1. Harry was the key. _

_Harry saw the box in the air, hurtling towards him. Saw it spin, saw it fall. Right into his outstretched hands. He gripped it tightly. _

_They could not lose that box. _

_"Now go!" Draco shouted. "GO!"_

_"Draco-" _

_"Get the hell out of here, you bastard!" Draco screamed at him, effectively blocking one curse while allowing two more to hit him. _

_The box._

_Draco._

_Harry's entire body shook. He hesitated. He met Draco's eyes. He nodded. And he ran._

_He ran because Draco had told him to. Because this box contained the last piece of the puzzle. Because all would be lost without it. _

_And he would never forgive himself._

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Thank GOODNESS that chapter is finally out! Sorry to everyone that had to put up with me saying "It's coming soon, soon, I swear!" weeks before it was finally finished. I had to keep going back, changing this, fixing up that. This was truly "The Chapter from Hell". So, if you have an opinion on it, I would be EVER so grateful to hear from you. Please leave a review. It takes you 20 seconds, but a good review can give me immeasurable pleasure! Anyway, thanks for reading!


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